Water Lilies
by Nirathea
Summary: Life at 221B Baker Street changed when Sherlock Holmes fell. It changes again when Dr. Watson finds a girl on the street and realizes he can't let her go. Post RB. John/Sherlock friendship. O/C. Rated M for possible future content.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: First of all: Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters/places/story that you recognize.

This story is post RB. It's John/Sherlock friendship. Possible Johnlock in the future, I haven't decided yet.

Warning: This story contains mention of physical and emotional abuse, drug abuse, violence and cursing. You have been warned.

* * *

"There ain't nothin' for you here."

Damn.

John Watson knew better than this. Even if Sherlock were alive, even if the homeless network knew where he was, they wouldn't tell him. They were nothing if not fiercely protective of their own.

He'd seen the body. John had grabbed his friends limp arm and felt the nonexistent pulse.

Sherlock Holmes is dead. The painful truth he so badly wished to deny.

Sherlock Holmes was a fake. He could repeat it to himself as much as he wanted but the information refused to compute. There's no way it was all fake. They were best friends. They had lived together. They had spent too many hours in their chairs across from each other in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock couldn't possibly have acted that entire time. All those thousands of deductions couldn't be magic tricks. It was real, all real.

So John went on believing in Sherlock Homes. A little over two years and John couldn't stop looking for him, no matter what it was doing to the good Dr.

"Alright. Thanks anyway" With a sigh he started to turn away from the homeless woman.

"Doctor! Doctor Watson!"

John turned, startled, to see a young man waving him over from deeper in the alleyway.

He made his way over to the teen and started to recognize him from his time with Sherlock. Jack...Jerrod...Jessie! That was it.

"Hello Jessie, what can.." But he was cut off.

"No time Doc. She just passed out and she ain't wakin up" Jessie said motioning to a girl slumped against the wall. "We was just sittin and talkin and like nothing she plain passed out."

Crouching down in front of the small body, John started to take vital signs. "Has she taken anything?"

"No sir, no drugs. Least I didn't see 'er take anythin' "

John narrowed his his eyes at the kid. The girls heart rate was increased and she felt inordinately warm. Not signs of definite drug use, but either way she needed to be checked out properly.

John started to pick her up.

"Alright, help me get her up we need to get her to a hospital."

"No! You can't take her there, they'd send her back to the home. She'd kill me if she knew I let you take 'er there. Please just help 'er "

John hesitated for a moment. He should probably take her to the hospital. And so what if she was taken back into foster care. Three square meals a day, a roof over her head, that had to be better than roughing it right? But something told him that the girl in his arms would disagree.

"Fine" He conceded. "I'll take her back to mine, you coming?"

"Yeah mate"

Sighing John turned and walked towards the road to hail a taxi. Walking through London with an unconscious girl in his arms would probably be frowned upon.

* * *

Blonde.

Impossibly blonde. Well not impossibly, just...unusually. Such an unusual shade of platinum blonde.

John Watson sat watching the girl passed out on his couch. Jessie had left as soon as he heard she would be alright. That had been a couple hours ago.

Nothing irreversible just some dehydration and exhaustion, a bit of malnutrition. He'd seen worse and she could be fixed up rather easily. Let her rest for as long as she needs, keep her hydrated and get some food into her, then figure out what to do with her. Basically the same routine as with his hung-over flatmates back at Uni.

But right now John was trying his level best to deduce like Sherlock.

Long curly blonde hair. Tangled a mess. Skin, pale, spend time huddled in alleys and shadows. Clothes, multiple layers, thread bear and filthy. Not newly run away then. Shoes, dirty but expensive brand, Filched? Height, roughly 4'11". Estimated age, 10.

That was all he could manage to get off of her appearance and he didn't think she'd take kindly to him rummaging through her backpack.

Just then there was a groan and the girl rolled further onto her side, squinting up at him for a moment before burying her head in the throw pillow.

"Hello" John tried.

"ungh" was her muffled reply. "Where 'm I?"

"You're at 221B Baker Street and my name is John Watson. I'm a Doctor. You passed out and Jessie called me over to help. Can you tell me the date?"

"Mrphlgh"

"What's that?"

Lifting her head a fraction "I said, It's July 7th"

"What year?"

"2014."

"Good" A pleased smile passed over John's face. "I'm going to get some more water and a bit of food. Be right back"

As he was shuffling around the kitchen making a pbj for the girl, he realized something.

"What's you're name? Jessie never said!" He called from the kitchen.

"Araluen"

"Huh?" John said walking back into the living room.

Araluen had sat up while he was in the kitchen, legs crossed indian style and hands folded in her lap where she was staring. With her head down her face was obscured by her hair.

"It's Araluen" the girl seemed to sigh. "Ar-ah-loo-in"

"Alright, alright, I just didn't hear you that's all. And how old are you?"

"Twelve"

Twelve!? The girl was tiny.

John set the plate and the glass of water down on the table in front of her and sat himself on it as well, a couple feet away.

"Well Araluen. You passed out from exhaustion and dehydration. You should be alright in a little while. Just eat this sandwich and drink the water. Rest up a bit more and then I'll call Social Services. I can't let you back on the streets, at this rate you'll waste away."

"NO!" She frantically looked up and finally meeting his eyes. "Please don't send me back there!"

And John Watson couldn't think of it. He couldn't think at all and he couldn't breathe, because those pale blue-green eyes were so _painfully_ familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own "Sherlock" or any of the the characters/places/scenarios therein, neither do I benefit monetarily from this story. I own only the characters and scenarios not recognizable from the series.

Now on with the show. :)

* * *

"Please, Doctor Watson. _Please_"

John was snapped out of his memories of stormy eyes and races through London.

"Ahem. Right, yes." He said wiping at his eyes "Um, if you come with me to St. Barts and let me run some tests myself then I won't turn you over to the hospital. Deal?"

A wary look crossed Araluen's features before agreeing.

"Okay fine. But no doctors."

"Except me?" He asked with a smirk

"Obviously" She replied rolling her eyes.

* * *

When he glanced up over her test results Araluen was sitting on the lab counter staring at the wall opposite. Legs swinging idly, cheeks puffed out in boredom.

The girl was clean. No drugs in her system, no diseases. As far as he could tell she really had no other thing wrong with her, just the compounded effects of malnutrition, dehydration and exhaustion.

"So do you go to school?" John asked glancing back up.

Araluen just shook her head.

"May I ask why not?"

"Boring."

One word. Said in that tone, it set him off. The girl had been doing things all day that reminded him of Sherlock.

John Watson may be a bit unstable at the moment but he wasn't crazy. He _had_ to know if this child was related to Sherlock.

"Just one more test. May I?" He inquired extending a hand towards her arm.

She simply nodded, a look of complete disinterest on her face. She didn't even flinch when the needle slid in.

New vial of blood in his hand John headed off to pretend to run a test.

* * *

Walking back over after a reasonable amount of time John smiled at Araluen. "All good, you just need to take better care of yourself. When was the last time you ate, beyond the sandwich this morning?"

Araluen looked thoughtful. "Don't remember." She shrugged.

The Doctor gaped for a moment. "Okay, well, you're coming with me to lunch. Come on."

John didn't want Araluen to leave his sight but there wasn't really anything he could do to keep her. She had only agreed to let him do the tests. In the end John had to let her go with a full stomach, his number and Doctor's orders to take care of herself.

Araluen had just given him a small smile and a nod. "Goodbye Dr. Watson." Then scampered off into London.

* * *

Two days later John had gathered two possible sources of DNA. Sherlock's hairbrush and his toothbrush.

The first was unlikely to be of any use. Had the man ever brushed his hair? The second was more promising, if it could used after all this time.

"Hey Molly" He called out, walking into the morgue.

The mousy woman started with a shriek. "Oh! Um, hi John. How are you? What's up?"

John smiled fondly at the flustered woman. "Actually Molly, I came here to ask a favor, could you possibly run a paternity test for me? I don't trust myself to do it. I have a blood sample from the child and a toothbrush from the prospective father. It's a little old but it's the only DNA I could find."

"Sure John, what's this for though?" She questioned politely moving to take the materials. "You have a case on?"

"You could say that."

She gave a bright smile, glad to see him looking enthusiastic for a change. "Well I'll just go start then." She said heading out the door towards the lab.

* * *

When Molly return later she wore a stunned expression. "John, this DNA...i-it's.."

"I know Molly" He said racing forward and cutting her off. He kissed her cheek while grabbing the results from her hands. "I'll explain later."

"The next moment he was running out the door. "Thanks Molly!"

* * *

An hour later found Dr. Watson sitting in his chair at Baker St. still staring at he results.

Positive match.

Sherlock had had a child.

Had he known? Unlikely. Well so much for "the Virgin" moniker.

Now that John knew, what was he supposed to do with the information? Well she needs to be off the streets.

Pulling out is phone, John dialed a number he hadn't in two years.

"Dr. Watson."

"Mycroft." John's jaw tensed. He had refused to talk to Mycroft since that day at the Diogenes Club.

"What can I do for you?"

Swallowing back his anger John took a breath before beginning.

"That girl I brought to my flat the other day?"

"What girl John?"

"DAMNIT MYCROFT! I'm not and idiot. I know you've had me under surveillance. The girl! The blonde little girl from the other day"

"What about her John?" Mycroft sighed.

"You need to find her."

"I do have better..."

"She's your niece."

The silence lasted just slightly longer that normal.

"Excuse me?"

"She's Sherlock's daughter. The positive results are right here in my lap. You need to find her Mycroft, she's living on the streets."

"Are you sure John? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Here, I'm faxing them to you right now."

There was the sound of rustling on the other side as Mycroft got up to retrieve the papers. Then a few moments of silence while he absorbed their content.

"I will contact you when we have found the girl"

"Please do, Mycroft. I need to see her. Promise me...Mycroft?"

"...Goodbye John" Mycroft said softly.

* * *

It had taken Anthea under five minutes to get every record on Araluen Taylor in existence. Such a unique name. It had taken fifteen minutes to actually find the girl through CCTV. Sneaky little thing. She seemed to prefer back alleys. Then it was just a matter of picking her up.

"..Sir?"

Startled from his musings Mycroft glanced up at Anthea. "Oh, yes. Yes, use location nine." He said absently.

Anthea nodded and left him.

A girl. His brother had fathered a child. He was an uncle. The idea was slightly horrifying. A child running around London with Sherlock's mind. His penchant for trouble, his idiosyncrasies, possibly even his...'disabilities'. He worried for any child burdened with Holmes genes.

Alas, nothing worthwhile would be discovered until he could talk to the child. With a sigh Mycroft stood from his seat and texted Jason to bring his car around.

* * *

Araluen had just nicked a pair of lightly used jeans from a school lost and found. Good find.

The twenty pound note from under the potted plant on the nurses desk? Better find.

If people really wanted to hide their money, they should find more original places to do it.

She was heading in the general direction of the bridge she was staying under tonight, when she noticed a black car following her in the the windows of the shops she passed.

As if realizing it had been noticed the car sped up the smallest bit and came up along side her. Simultaneously an identical car stopped in the intersection ahead.

Men in black suits got out of the both cars.

Senses on high alert, it didn't take glancing back to know that the way behind her was also block.

The man nearest her opened the back door of the car like a chauffeur. "Get in the car Miss."

"Are you cops? Christ! It was just a pair of jeans!"

"Get in the car Miss." The massive man in front of her repeated.

Seeing no escape route, Araluen complied with a sigh.

Inside was a pretty woman in professional clothing. She was wearing sky high heels and was tapping away on her phone. The woman glanced at her with an amused smile, then went back to her blackberry.

Squishing herself against the far door Araluen pretended to glare suspiciously at the woman the entire ride. In reality she was focusing just past the woman on the window.

They were in a part of London she wasn't overly familiar with and as they pulled into an abandoned warehouse Araluen started to feel genuinely scared.

"Here we are then." The woman said, speaking for he first time once the car had stopped. "He will see you now."

The woman's tone was much to sweet and polite. Frankly creepy. It put Araluen on edge. But the curiosity was killing her, so scowling at the woman one last time for good measure, she stepped out of the car.

The warehouse was pitch black aside from the the headlights of the car, illuminating a single chair and an intimidating looking man in a suit. Leaning on an umbrella, legs crossed at the ankles he managed to look both serious and nonchalant.

Scared witless but unwilling to show it, Araluen stepped forward a few paces and looked the man in the eye.

"Hello Miss Taylor."

* * *

A/N: I know. It's starting out a bit slow. But I have to get all the technicalities out of the way before I can move on to the good stuff. Thank you to anyone reading. I'd really appreciate your review. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. I own nothing but the plot and my original character Araluen. I make no monetary profit from this story. This disclaimer stands for the entirety of this fanfiction.

And now that that's out of the way, Enjoy. :)

* * *

The warehouse was cold and the plastic chair provided was hard. Araluen was near the end of her patience. It felt like she had been here for hours, the man had questioned her the entire time. Questions about her past, about her mother, foster care and her life on the streets.

And he never once reacted to her answers. Like they came as no surprise to him. If she were completely honest she was starting to get bored.

She heaved a heavy sigh. Which mad the man snort. "...just like him" he mumbled.

A sudden bang rang out and they both jolted and turned to the side it came from.

"Dr. Watson!" Araluen was up and running towards John in an instant, when she stopped short and narrowed her eyes at the blonde man. "You're in on this! You targeted me and helped them find me." She accused, tears starting to form. "What do you people want?"

John just stared and blinked stupidly, before a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Mycroft," he groaned "you haven't even told her who you are yet?"

The man finally showed some emotion, shifting uncomfortably. "Well...I..."

"Jesus Mycroft! do you do this to EVERY new person in your sphere!? She's 12 for godsakes! Araluen, this is your uncle. Mycroft Holmes."

It was Araluen's turn to blink stupidly. "I don't have an uncle."

"You do actually. I...I may have run a paternity test with that last vial of blood I took."

Araluen looked thoroughly confused. She gestured limply towards John. "So you're...?"

"What? Oh! No! No I'm not."

"Who then? Where is he. I want to speak to the bastard."

"His name was Sherlock Holmes and he's no longer with us" Mycroft replied.

"Sherlock Holmes? As in that crazy detective guy that jumped off the hospital?"

"Yeah, that crazy detective guy." John whispered, suddenly looking wistful.

"He's dead then. What do you want with me?"

"You're my brother's daughter. I want you to be safe and cared for."

"Oh."

* * *

Mycroft flicked his gaze over John before sighing "I suppose you think she should stay with you?"

They were headed to one of Mycrofts safe houses. Araluen was riding back with Anthea.

"Over you?" John snorted "Yes."

"And why is that? You have no blood relation to her."

"Because _you_ Mycroft had your _**niece** kidnapped_. And then you interrogated her in an abandon warehouse for a couple hours. You obviously have no idea what to do with children. And if Sherlock had been aware that he had a child I highly doubt he would've left you guardianship."

Mycroft fidgeted a bit "I suppose I could've handled that a bit better"

Another snort "Ya think?"

* * *

"Are you rich or something?" Araluen asked, eyeing the massive foyer of Mycrofts safe house.

Mycroft sniffed "This is a safe house. I occupy minor position in the British Government."

John rolled his eyes "Mycroft _is_ the British Government."

Araluen turned back to Mycroft in awe. "Really?"

"Yes, well.." He cleared his throat. "Stephen has prepared rooms for you both. I'll have some soup brought up to each of you. I think we both need some time to process today. We'll discuss things in the morning. Goodnight." He inclined his head in a slight bow and disappeared through a door.

"This way Dr. Watson, Miss."

Araluen's instincts told her to kick and scream and fight this whole crazy situation. But it had been a really long day and the results in her hand indicated that they were telling the truth. She sent a glance at Dr Watson and nodded.

* * *

The next morning the three sat down to a very awkward breakfast. It consisted of much silent chewing and eyeing up of table mates.

When the plates were almost clear Mycroft motioned for Anthea. She stepped forward and handed him a small stack of documents which he then slid across to John.

"That is a custody agreement in which you are awarded partial custody of Araluen along with myself. It stipulates that we share all major decisions, education, healthcare, etcetera. Araluen lives with you on the condition that she stay with me once every other weekend. That is of course if the young lady wishes to stay with you?" He looked to Araluen his eyebrows raised delicately in question.

She took a few minutes to think about that while the men stared on expectantly. One the one hand she didn't really know John, but he seemed to have been close to her father. Dredging up memories of the newspapers, she remembered mention of a sidekick. Must've been John.

Who am I kidding? Mycroft creeps the crap outta me.

"I want to stay with John."

John blew out a breath of relief while Mycroft nodded his assent. "If you will Dr. Watson" He said motioning towards the papers.

"Right. Okay" John agreed and got to work reading through them.

A few signatures and Araluen went from an orphaned on the streets to the custody of John Watson and Mycroft Holmes.

Life is strange.

* * *

My father was strange.

Walking around the flat later that evening was like walking around a museum, only less organized. There were case files, newspaper clippings, artifacts, a harpoon against one wall and even a skull. The skull was kinda cool. She picked it up for a closer look.

"Sherlock used to talk to that, before he had me. It helped him think" John offered.

"Name?"

"What?"

"The skull does it have a name?"

"Oh, not that I know of."

"Hmm...come along Freddrick" She tucked the skull under her arm and went to check out the bedroom Dr. Watson had pointed out to her.

She started a bit in the doorway. How could the man's room be so spotless if the ret of his flat was such a mess?

She crept towards the bed. The room looked completely untouched save the bed.

She leaned forward and sniffed. John Watson? The Doctor had definitely been in this bed...recently.

Can't sleep, has nightmares, misses Sherlock, switches beds.

How close were they, REALLY?

It would take further examination.

The ghosted to the only other large piece of furniture in the room, the dresser. she opened a drawer and pulled out an undershirt. It smelled like detergent. Araluen dropped it back into the drawer with disgust.

Fake.

Artificial.

She found the dirty clothes hamper and rifled through until she came up with a pale grey silky button down. she sniffed tentatively.

This. This must've been what he had smelled like.

He smelled wonderful. Like rainy days and dark roast coffee and just the smallest touch of cigarettes.

It didn't take long to settle in, boxing up Sherlock's clothing and placing the boxes in the hall per Dr. Watson's request. Her own meager belongings fit in a single drawer of the dresser and she placed Sherlock's shirt folded neatly under the pillow.

Dr. Watson knocked on the open door before entering. "Settled in?"

Araluen nodded.

"Good" He sent her a winning smile. "Pizza's here. Come eat."

She pulled a face but followed him to the table nonetheless. They ate in reasonably comfortable silence until Dr. Watson brought up the dreaded subject..

"So, Araluen, school. When was the last time you went? You should be in about.. year 8 by now?"

"I did a couple weeks of year 7. It was dull"

"We can see about getting you into classes on your level. Mycroft will probably insist on you going to some posh private school where everything is advanced anyway.

"Umph" Araluen dropped her head onto the table. "Fine Dr. Watson. I'll go listen to idiot teachers drone on about useless subjects. Just don't expect me to enjoy it...or wear a uniform. Also you can call me Ara, everyone does. My full name sounds too formal, I feel like I'm being scolded."

John looked a little amused at her speech. "Okay Ara. Why don't you head to bed. I'll clean up here"

"Okay" She sent him a grateful look before scurrying off to her room.

"Goodnight" He called after her. John shook his head ruefully as he watched her leave.

At least she didn't seem to have Sherlock's aversion to sleep.

* * *

Monday the following week found Ara standing just inside the door, frowning. Araluen fidgeted with her white oxford where it was tucked into a navy knee-length skirt. Mrs. Hudson flitted about her, fussing and trying to adjust her tie.

Ara waved her off in annoyance.

"I told you no uniforms Watson!"

She had taken to calling him Watson for some reason beyond the good Doctor himself.

John sighed. "I know, but Mycroft insisted on_ this_ school. I told you he would. Apparently all Holmes' have gone there. But anyway, the car he sent over should be waiting outside by now. Off you go."

Ara looked panicked for half a second before assuming a calm and determined mask.

"This is not going to end well." She forewarned.

Then she turned and swept out of the flat.

* * *

A/N: I've taken a while to update but at the moment I'm just writing this fic for fun, for myself. If I see more interest in it then I'll try to update on a more regular basis. I do have a plot written out. I just have trouble sometimes filling in all the spaces between the plot points with something interesting. Until next time. -Thea xo


End file.
